


Speechless

by panchostokes (badwolfrun)



Series: Prompt Fics [5]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Fluff, JACK COMES BACK AND NOBODY CAN TELL ME OTHERWISE, M/M, Reunion Fluff, Tad bit of angst in the beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 05:13:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21368719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfrun/pseuds/panchostokes
Summary: Mac spends a lot of time in Jack's apartment when he's gone, but what happens when Jack comes back?
Relationships: Jack Dalton/Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Series: Prompt Fics [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540795
Comments: 23
Kudos: 115





	Speechless

**Author's Note:**

> dont-stop-believin-in-klaine sent me the prompt "you came back" for macdalton AND HERE WE ARE, STARTING THE DAY OUT RIGHT WITH A NICE GOOD HEAPING OF ANGST! (Angst turned to reunion fluff 😘) I will never tire of MacDalton reunions after Jack’s departure and I hope y’all won’t either lol
> 
> also s/o to underdefined67 for the giving me the idea for the couch bit
> 
> (also I suck at summaries sorry)

Mac walks through the threshold of Jack’s apartment with a deep sigh and a six pack of beer. 

He sets it on the coffee table in front of his couch as an offering to his absent friend before he does his routine sweep of the room to ensure that everything is undisturbed, outside of his own little touches, like the missing jacket from Jack’s closet, the shirt that is hung over the couch with a pillow and neatly folded blanket. 

As well as a few improvised improvements he know Jack will both love and hate when he returns--_if _he ever returns--such as the aforementioned couch that was not previously in Jack’s apartment, that didn’t even belong to Jack.

It was Mac’s couch, well, Mac and Bozer’s couch, that they had swapped out with the theater seats, on a night where Mac, Riley and Bozer decided they needed a touch of Jack Dalton in Mac’s house, which was becoming less of a living space and more of a shared hang-out hub, as everyone was moving on to living with other people. 

They knew that in the end, Jack won’t mind, would have even suggested the idea himself, if he were there.

He always sleeps on the couch on nights like this, where he can’t stand to be in his own home, where he can’t bring himself to just pick up the damn phone and just call the man he misses, instead of haunting his apartment like some sort of ghost. Perhaps it’s easier to just go to his apartment and be engulfed in the aesthetics and smell of Jack Dalton than hear a static, distorted version of his voice hundreds of miles away and having to pretend that he’s okay without him. 

Because he’s not.

The smell of Jack is slowly fading, however, as Mac spends more and more time in the apartment, and everything starts to smell like _him _instead. He’s more cautious, more delicate with his movements in the apartment, exiles himself from the bedroom, an effort to save it for a _really bad _night. 

And also because sleeping in Jack’s bed without Jack just doesn’t feel right.

He opens the glass cabinet that houses all of Jack’s most prized possessions, opens the small box where his father’s dog tags lie. He rubs his thumb over the engraving, gulping down a probable future in which he would be stroking another late Dalton’s dog tags. 

It’s stupid of him to have those thoughts. He wouldn’t...The team wouldn’t let Jack go alone to hunt down Kovac if they didn’t think he could do it. 

It’s been months, and perhaps he’s been spoiled by the at most, week-long mission lengths of the Phoenix, but Mac is slowly letting in more and more thoughts of doubt cloud the hope he was desperately clinging onto, that Jack will prevail, and come back, and things will go back to the way they were.

Then again, that last part doesn’t seem too likely, given their rocky relationship after Mac left for Nigeria, after their playful banter started to become more mean-spirited--which Mac is fully aware is _his _fault for initiating the sour turn of playfulness to near bullying. They were heading towards a fallout sooner or later, but Mac didn’t envision it to be so...permanent as this was turning out to be. 

He places the box back where it belongs, his fingers slide down to his Die Hard box set, covered in dust. 

He takes it off the shelf, brushes it off with his hand and end of his shirt. He smiles, remembering the last time they watched it, a consolation celebration of their Manniversary that had turned into a disaster. 

As he waits for the DVD to load, he grabs the first beer from the six pack he drink half of, leaving the other three for Jack in the refrigerator that was no almost entirely full of nothing but beer. 

He can see Jack’s face, a twisted smile and narrowed eyebrows. A gravely chuckle clearing his throat before he makes a comment about a prank war, feigning shock that perhaps it was a “gift from Samantha Cage,” though he would know it was really either Mac or Bozer’s doing. Or both. 

The movie begins, and Mac is sitting on the couch, legs stretched out on the coffee table in front of him, having settled into the same air of casualty that Jack exudes as he walks into Mac’s house as if he owns the place. 

Perhaps it’s because Jack never knocks when he walks into Mac’s home, that he thinks nothing over the sound of an opening door, or the loudness of the movie, but Mac doesn’t register any of the following sounds.

The sound of a door opening. An exhale of release. The sound of a bag thudding to the ground. The refrigerator door opening. The clinking of glass. A bottle cap popped off, clattering to the floor. 

But he feels it.

The previously waning scent of Jack Dalton sniffed up through his nostrils. The warmth as another body plops down on the couch next to him. An arm wrapping around his shoulder, fingers tapping and patting as the body shifts closer. The...not so pleasant smell of Jack’s feet as shoes are kicked off, gently knock into Mac’s legs on the table as Jack stretches out, toes curling in socks as Bruce Willis makes fists with his own toes on screen. 

It’s in this moment that Mac turns his head and sees bags weighing down weary eyes that hold rejuvenated energy, a wide smile that entices crinkles to streak across his skin--Mac flexes his fingers as he feels the urge to touch his face, which now has a full beard, which indicates to Mac that this is not a ghost, not a dream, but the _real _Jack Dalton, because in his dreams, Jack never has a beard. 

They don’t say a word, but instead, watch the movie they both have the lines, actions and timing memorized, and yet they savor every shared second over the next two hours, and once the credits roll, Mac makes the first move, turning off the television and rolling over to straddle Jack in one swift movement. 

He cups both hands around Jack’s bearded face--rubbing his palms up and down the bristles that he’s quickly warming up to. He searches the face with a look of confused bemusement, because he’s sitting on him. He’s sitting on Jack Dalton, _in the flesh_ and Jack narrows his eyebrows, wraps his hands around Mac’s hips. He shifts Mac just a few inches closer, his shoulders wriggle as his back shifts up, too. 

After far too much wordless deliberation and confirmation that this is real, this is happening, their faces smash together with such speed and force Mac feels as if his nose was broken, though his tongue is too busy dancing inside of Jack’s mouth to care. 

Jack’s hands move from his hips to his butt cheeks as Mac feels himself lifted into the air, he slides his hands down to wrap around Jack’s neck for stability, his palms tingle with the phantom sensation of Jack’s beard as his cheeks now get the full experience. As Jack draws his lips down Mac’s chin, down his neck, down his collarbone until he reaches the first button of Mac’s shirt and rips it off with his teeth, Mac quickly grows accustomed to the sensation of beard burn. 

Jack’s working on the second button to his shirt when Mac is startled with the sensation of free fall, releases his hands from Jack’s neck as his body lands on Jack’s bed, his hands bouncing up to unzip the army jacket--the same army jacket he left in, but it’s darkened, dirtied, smells like smoke and explosions and memories of the sandbox--and Jack gets frustrated fumbling with Mac’s buttons, splits his shirt open, exposing his clean, bare chest, save for the scar that Jack plants his lips on top of, gently. 

Mac, in turn, exposes Jack’s chest, full of old and new scars, burning questions teetering on the tip of his tongue, but now is not the time for talking. 

Tomorrow morning, perhaps. 

* * *

Mac is the first to wake between them, his first full night of sleep in the months that Jack had been gone. 

Though sleeping wasn’t all they did last night.

He’s still speechless, as he rolls to find Jack Dalton sound asleep next to him, a blanket covering their naked bodies. 

He puts a hand to Jack’s face, his fingers tracing his bearded jawline as weary eyes flutter partially open, Jack smiles automatically as Mac notices the bags under his eyes are less dark than last night, indicating that Jack’s sleep was a restful one, too.

Mac is the first to find his voice between them, which both surprises and worries him, briefly wondering if Jack had somehow lost his voice on his mission.

“It wasn’t a dream...” Mac mutters, half in disbelief, half in relief. His heart makes up for the movement of his limp limbs, he has no desire to move from this spot, from this moment, as he touches his best friend--no, not just friend, _soul mate’s _face. 

“What wasn’t a dream?” Jack grumbles, an eyebrow completely raising the curtain of one of his dark eyes that shine brightly in the rays of the rising sun. He digs out his own hand from under the covers, brushes Mac’s hair out of his face to get a look at his blonde angel. 

“You came back.” 


End file.
